


He

by blackhighheels



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24035662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackhighheels/pseuds/blackhighheels
Summary: The smoke he blew out flowed out into the night and he watched it go before he inhaled again.It had been a while since he stood here like this in the middle of the night, smoking because his thoughts kept him awake and he couldn't sleep.
Relationships: Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	He

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally the first Branjie story I ever wrote. Or well the first half, because I wrote this, while I wrote 'Facial Expressions' and put the things in here that didn't fit.
> 
> It's also based on an old story of mine in another Fandom. I don't think I have similar stories out yet in this one. After encouragement from writworm42 I decided to post it and finally get it off my hard drive.  
> Let's see what you think about it.

*******

It was really cold, he realized once he stepped out onto the balcony. He thought of going back inside and getting his coat, but then decided against it. Instead he wrapped his grey vest more tightly around himself and closed the balcony door behind him. As he looked out over the twinkling of the city, he lit the first Black&Mild, placed the package on the balustrade and inhaled deeply. The smoke he blew out flowed out into the night and he watched it go before he inhaled again.

It had been a while since he stood here like this in the middle of the night, smoking because his thoughts kept him awake and he couldn't sleep. 

_He_ , the reason why he couldn't sleep anymore, entered his thoughts and he could see _his_ face in front of his eyes. Like always, his breath hitched, tears filled his eyes and his chin started to quiver. It hurt. Quickly he took another puff and blew his emotions out into the night with the white smoke.

_„Now the real reason I keep kissing you is because it's the only way to get you to shut the fuck up!"_

_"I'll take that!"_

He wondered where _he_ was now. Was _he_ still on tour? Or was _he_ back at home for once? Not that it really mattered…

Had _he_ moved on while he still couldn't? Was _he_ flirting again and fucking other guys? Or maybe _he_ found another guy to try another relationship with. He didn't want to think about it, but couldn't help thinking about it at the same time.

He had tried it that evening; going out there again, dating again. The evening at the club was nice. The food before had been tasty, the drinks great and conversation flowed easily between them. He was fun, sexy even and he enjoyed his company. 

Before _him_ he was sure that he would have taken the guy home, even if it was just for one passionate night. He wouldn't have let that chance pass by.

Now he had given him a chaste kiss goodbye and had gone home alone.

He knew that his friends were right and that he had to try at least to find someone again who was giving him that feeling he had with _him_. However, he couldn't force it and it hadn't felt right to go home with anyone in a while. A bit like cheating, although there was no one he could cheat on.

He put out the cigarette on the wall, placed it in an empty flower pot and got another one out of the package. He lit it, inhaled, blew out the smoke.

_„Vanjie! We're going on vacation!"_

At first, once _he_ picked up his things, hugged him goodbye and left, he thought about begging _him_ to come back, about changing his mind and giving _him his_ freedom and being less clingy. He knew it was wrong for himself though. It would break him seeing _him_ with other guys, so he had stopped himself. It would have been foolish to give _him_ all the freedom, just because _he_ felt _he_ wanted it. 

He had been in too many relationships that ended with a broken heart for him. Still, part of him felt that they gave up too easily on their relationship. _He_ gave up too easily. Ending it instead of trying to make it work was the easy way out. For him at least. He wondered what he should do with the 'toes' necklace that was still lying on his dresser, just waiting to be put back around his neck.

He had felt so sure about this relationship. After some time of adjustment after Drag Race, he was so very sure. He could see them growing old together. He could see himself getting married to _him_ and knew he would never regret it.

It had been the only relationship in his life so far where he felt they were completely equal. They could talk about anything, discuss everything, weigh pros and cons together before decisions and stay up talking and laughing all night, simply because they enjoyed each other's company so much. Seeing _his_ face light up because of a joke he made was his favorite sight.

His second cigarette was nearly done as well, he realized as he looked down to his hand. _He_ hated it when he smoked Black&Milds, which was ironic considering _he_ was a smoker himself. _He_ hated the smell and that he could die before _him_ because it was unhealthy. So he had stopped while he was with _him_ . For _him_. 

Like a rebellious teen he stuck out his chin, determination written all over his face. He lit up the third cigarette and threw the second to the other in the pot.

„ _It was sweet though. I liked seeing that."_

„ _I don't usually cry."_

_"It was sweet, baby."_

Shouldn't he have known that it would end this way? Back then when he had wanted to cancel gigs so he could spent time with _him_ and _he_ had made him feel like a burden? Or when _he_ had gone to Chicago and to Canada and to Europe without really discussing it with him? _He_ had made the decisions alone, just like _he_ had ended their relationship without giving him a chance. 

He had loved _him_ even more for the simple fact that _he_ cared so much about _his_ career and _his_ drag and things that were important to _him_ . He thought it would reflect on how _he_ would treat him and their relationship. But it didn't.

The nicotine of the third cigarette made him slightly dizzy. He wasn't used to it anymore. He didn't stop smoking. His throat started to hurt.

It was a mild ache compared to the hole in his heart, which still felt like it had been ripped apart. It sounded cheesy and cliché, but he was sure that _he_ had taken a part of it with him. He wasn't sure he'd get it back.

He didn’t just miss _him_ and everything they had shared. He missed watching him on stage. He missed his phone calls and the pictures he sent. He missed seeing _him_ again after a long time apart and how _he_ clung to him when they did. He missed the friends they had shared.

When he got queasy he put out the cigarette, threw it away and wrapped his arms around himself to protect himself from the cold wind.

_“My hope for my relationship with Vanjie after this is just to get to know each other like two normal people. It could be nice. We'll see what happens ."_

He had thought about calling or texting _him_ several times. More in the beginning, when he missed _him_ so much that _he_ had consumed all of his thoughts during the day and his dreams at night. It would only prolong the heartache, he knew, and so the radio silence between them had set in. He missed his friend as much as all the other roles _he_ had played in his life, even after barely six months together.

He played with the box of cigarettes, thought about lighting another one, but then decided against it. It would only make him feel worse, not better.

He had felt better already. Before, when he had been able to bury _him_ so deep down that he could distract himself with work and friends and Riley. Now that the season had started, _his_ name was back on his social media, _his_ face on his screen, the sound of _his_ voice everywhere he went, _his_ scent at the venues and the way _he_ touched him and kissed him broadcasted all over the world. Everything that dating another man couldn't bring back. 

His fingers were turning white from the cold and he decided to go back inside, take his cigarettes with him, and turn on the TV. He wouldn't sleep anyway. Couldn't sleep really, because the memories of _him_ were back while _he_ was not. _Brock_ had left him. And he missed _him_.

_"I'll always love him and I really do have love for him and…"_

  
  
*******

The moon is the only light in the room when he looks over to _him_ , _his_ sleeping form on the other side of his bed. He can't sleep - again- and gets up because just lying there always makes him feel claustrophobic.

Quietly he tiptoes out of the room, grabs his robe off the hook on the door and closes it silently behind him as he leaves the room.

The cold air smells like snow here in Chicago when he steps outside onto the fire escape, but the ground is dark and dry. With the ease of habit he digs the cigarettes out of their hiding place and lights the first one as he stares out into the night.

He can't even remember how many nights he has spent out in the cold trying to distract himself from missing _him_ , fighting the feeling of loneliness and keeping his desperate tears at bay.

_He_ is back now, just in the other room asleep in bed and yet again, here he is, hiding from his own feelings and trying to blow them out into the night in clouds. It has never worked and it doesn't this night, but he still tries.

_"I always looked at our - whatever we have going on - as completely separate from this competition."_

When _he_ was gone all he had wished for was for _him_ to change _his_ mind and come back. He never realised how difficult it would be to actually have _him_ back.

The night _he_ drove him home after a gig in _his_ hometown, _he_ offered to stay with him to watch a movie. 

_He_ didn't react much to his revelation that his last try at a relationship was out of the picture. They didn't talk much on the drive home. Neither of them said much after they entered his AirBnB apartment. He wasn't sure if _he_ kissed him or he kissed _him_. He knew however, that they made up for the time apart that night - physically at least. Like addicts, they craved more each time. They weren't able to stop kissing - sloppily, stop touching - greedily, stop having sex - passionately. At some point they made it from the living room to the bedroom. They fell asleep in the early hours of the morning and he left for the airport a couple of hours later, just with a kiss goodbye.

They repeated this for a while. And then they started talking and with the talking came the fighting.

They had never been a couple that fought much. They had their spats and some discussions. He could count the number of times they yelled at each other, before _he_ had left him to chase _his_ dream and other men. 

Now that _he_ is back, all they seem able to do is yell or fuck. He takes the first drag of his cigarette with that realisation. Yet, they can't be just friends. They tried for a long time, but the feelings just never went away.

Giving into his addiction doesn't help with the heavy feeling in his gut. His remedy for sleepless nights, has it ever helped since _he_ left? It doesn't make him feel better, but it gives him a reason to stand out here in the middle of the night, freezing. No one could say he was crazy, if he just smoked outside, right?

_"I'm sorry y'all are missing it in action, 'cause it's good in person!"_

He loves _him_ , that much he knows. However, the fact that _he_ walked out of his life after everything they had been through together with the show and the lip-sync and the travelling, and for what? For the vague concept of freedom and trade and no obligations - it still hurts.

Their fights circle around this fact like the eye of a storm. Round and round it goes. Why did _he_ leave him back then, when _he_ works and travels even more now? Why can't he accept that _he_ was foolish back then, and knows what _he_ wants now? How can he know that _he_ won't leave again in the future? Why can't he trust _him?_ Why can't _he_ understand that he can't trust _him_ when _he_ can't explain why _he_ left him back then and now wants him back, even though _he_ says _his_ feeling haven't changed.

The conversation usually ends with them first screaming at each other and then tearing each others clothes off. The last tender, non-sexual physical contact was them holding hands when _he_ picked him up at the airport. The cold smoke of the cigarette wafts around his body and is nothing like the tender touch he craves.

_"We're gonna see what happens."_

_"If you want it to work it'll work. If you not put effort into it, it's not gonna work."_

  
  


"You started smoking again.” His body stiffens when he hears _his_ voice from behind and he tries to detect any trace of anger in it. He is so tired. And he doesn't want to fight. Not now, not again and not here. He is cold enough, inside and out, he doesn't need _him_ to add to it.

He takes one last deep drag of the cigarette and then stubs it on the banister, so he can flee when _he_ will start the inevitable argument. His hiding space suddenly isn't safe anymore. He should have known, because _he_ knows him.

He doesn't turn around, but just stares into the darkness, really feeling the cold settle in his bones for the first time since he came outside. It is too late to yell out here. It is too cold to have sex out here.

When _his_ arms wrap around his waist and _he_ holds him gently, he is surprised. The warmth of _his_ body seeps through his thin robe and into his skin. He moves closer to the heat, closer to _him_ . _His_ chin comes to rest on his shoulder, _his_ warm cheek touching his own cold face. _He_ turns his head and places soft kisses on the edge of his mouth, on his chin, his neck, his collarbone. Everywhere _he_ can reach without letting him go. He closes his eyes.

_"Brooke Lynn is a good friend of mine. A really good friend."_

The soft touch of his lips warms him more than any jacket ever could and it melts the ice that formed around his emotions over the last couple of months. Sex is a way of connecting, but _his_ tenderness shakes him to the core.

"I missed you so much," he admits and realises only by the way his voice shakes that he is crying. 

"I missed you, too. I love you, Jose. I came back because I don't want to be without you. I'm so sorry I put you through this and destroyed your trust in me. I'm so sorry for the last years." _His_ words are quietly spoken directly in his ear. He is sobbing by then. Once the floodgates are open, all the emotions come bursting through. He was trying to let them go up in smoke in the night, but it is _his_ arms around him that actually free him. He turns around and falls into them. The way _his_ chest shakes lets him know that _he_ is crying as well.

_He_ holds him that night, and he holds _him_ and it doesn't go further than that. _He_ explains himself in quiet words, while they lie in bed and he listens and finally forgives _him_. _He_ is back, _he_ loves, probably even more than before. The warmth that surrounds them underneath the covers finally makes him fall into a peaceful sleep, his head resting against _his_ chest. He doesn't need a hiding spot no more. He doesn't need cigarettes or his emotions up in smoke. He just needs _him_ , right next to him. _Brock_ is back. And _he_ loves him still.

_“Hey, papi!”_

*****

  
  



End file.
